


blue butterflies

by sapphicmyosotis



Category: Clone High
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:53:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27517168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphicmyosotis/pseuds/sapphicmyosotis
Summary: gandhi and cleo are 10 and still live together. cleo has a nightmare about snakes and gandhi comforts her, they end up dealing with their drunk foster mom but it has a wholesome ending.i wrote this at 4am yesterday and i was way too tired to check if this made sense sorry
Relationships: gandhi/cleo platonically
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	blue butterflies

**Author's Note:**

> this is definitely not me projecting my childhood on fictional characters :”)

Gandhi sat up, feeling a sharp pain from the scream he had woken up to. He took a glance at the clock. It was 3AM. The scream he had heard was his foster sister. Gandhi put on his slippers and walked to the dark hallway. The TV downstairs gave a tiny amount of light as the young boy made his way over to Cleopatra’s door.

“Cleo..?” He whispered as the door creaked open. The room’s only source of lighting was the butterfly night light next to a pretty pink bed. On the bed was a crying, visibly shaken, Cleo.  
“Are you okay? Did you have the nightmare again?” Gandhi tried asking.  
“There was a snake in my bed! I swear there was a snake there! It bit me I swear!” Cleo sobbed hysterically and wiped her tears on her sleeve. Her foster brother took a few steps closer to see for himself. There was no snake.  
“You just had the nightmare again.” He sat on the bed, trying to calm his sister, unsuccessfully. Cleo hugged her knees tightly.  
“I swear there was a snake!” She had struggled with nightmares about snakes ever since she had watched Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s Cleopatra. The last scene of her death might have triggered something in Cleo and she was suffering the consequences. Sometimes being a clone of someone with such a death wasn’t that great. Gandhi couldn’t think of anything to say. He sat there, looking at his feet dangling off the bed. Cleo had almost stopped crying and was still sniffling quite a bit. 

They both were caught off guard by footsteps from the hallway. Their drunk foster mom and some guy were stumbling downstairs from their mom’s room. They were definitely not sober and they most definitely didn’t care it was past three in the morning.  
Suddenly Cleo spoke.  
“I want a glass of water.” She muttered through the sobs. Gandhi turned his gaze at her.  
“A glass of water?” He repeated.  
“Yes, please get me one.” She wiped dried tears off her face. Gandhi looked at her for a few seconds, not sure if she was kidding. They had both just seen their foster mom and a stranger go downstairs completely wasted and in order to get the glass of water Gandhi would have to pass the living room, which he did not want to do.  
“Stop staring! Are you getting me water or not?” Cleo whined. Her brother was silent. He would do anything it took to make Cleo feel better, but he would also do anything to not make their drunk foster mom mad.  
“If you come with me,” he said. Cleo let out a disappointed sigh, but agreed. 

The two made their way quietly walking down the stairs. The TV was just loud enough for the drunk adults on the couch to not notice. One of the steps creaked under Cleo’s foot. Gandhi quickly turned to her, covering his mouth with his finger as a sign of be quiet. As the kitchen got closer and the stairs ended Gandhi phased past the couch to the kitchen, Cleo following him closely. Gandhi reached his hand to open the cabinet door, only to realize he was too short to grab a glass.  
“Cleo, can you reach the glass shelf?” He whispered. She nodded and got on her tiptoes. The glass she picked was her favorite, it had a blue butterfly print on it.  
Gandhi opened the fridge and pulled out a jug of water. He proceeded to pour Cleo’s glass full. Gandhi put the jug back and closed the door, letting out a relieved sigh. Everything was going so well. They made their way out of the kitchen but couldn't make it to the stairs. Gandhi accidentally tripped over a cable, resulting in their mom snapping out of her focus on the guy with her.  
“What the hell are you kids doing up?” The words were nowhere near coherent. Cleo froze completely, quickly grabbing Gandhi’s hand. There was no-one she was as scared of as her foster mother.  
“C-Cle-Cleo wanted, uh, wanted a-” Though she wasn’t the only one scared of her. The woman stood up the best she could in her state, walking over to the kids. As she got to her foster children she kneeled down to their level.  
“You bastards should be asleep, you know that right?” she blurted out. Gandhi and Cleo nodded. The boy opened his mouth again.  
“Cleo h-had the, um, the nightmare again and-”  
“And what? Couldn’t sleep? How cute.” The drunk mother turned to look at Cleopatra. The girl’s eyes were filling up with tears. Gandhi squeezed her hand tight.  
“I have someone here I’m having fun with so you little shits should hurry back to bed, like right now.” The man on the couch was following the situation from afar, not saying anything. Maybe for the best. As their mom was trying to get up she stumbled. This made Cleo flinch. Gandhi didn’t want to be there any longer either.  
“We’re going back to bed now, mom.” He mumbled and took Cleo by the hand. He led them up the stairs and back to Cleo’s room.  
She rushed right back under the covers and took a sip of the water before setting it on her bedside table. Gandhi didn’t sit down since he was about to go back to his own bed.  
“Goodnight, Cleo.” He said. There was no reply. She was still not over the interaction with their foster mom. She was nice while sober! She wasn’t always drunk, right?  
“Cleo?”  
“Why does she act like that sometimes?”  
The question baffled Gandhi. It was a good question.  
“Because she’s drunk.”  
“Why? Doesn’t she love us?” Cleo felt a teardrop roll down her cheek. Gandhi stopped to think for a moment.  
“She’s our mom, right? She has to love us. At least a little bit.” he tried to reassure his sister.  
“Do people who love you throw blush at you when the vodka runs out?” Cleo asked.  
“No,” Gandhi replied.  
The room fell quiet. Nothing but the breathing of two kids living in a very unhappy household.  
“I’ve never thrown blush at you,” He smiled a bit. Cleo giggled lightly.  
“Yeah, because you don’t know what blush is.” she smiled back. They looked at each other. At least they had each other.  
“Goodnight, Gandhi.” Cleo laid down in her bed and held her covers tightly.  
“Goodnight, Cleo.” Gandhi replied and left the room, closing the door quietly. He returned to his own bed, slowly falling asleep.


End file.
